I Am the Chosen One

So I crawled from the floor to the bed and wrapped my entire head in pillows and blankets, never to drift off really, but to merge with this vision: I would swear that there were four people in the kitchen (dark mauve like a brothel) Mark, Tater, Me, and Invisible Me. Tater was showering in a kind of apparatus made of brick with a squarish kind of hole just large enough to show the occupant's head and the stream of water, or rather streams, as there were two, one going down and one going back up. She came out of the shower and put on John's Hard Rock Cafe robe, about to begin a serious discussion about why she looks to the promised land of "get rich quick" schemes to solve her problems, when a moth came into the room (I want to say "flitted", but moths don't flit, their actions are far more laden with purpose than can contain the word "flit"). It appeared, flew, etc. and landed on today's date on the calendar on the wall. It took off again, and I held out a! finger on which for it to land, as if it were trained to do so, as if I Knew Its Secret. It landed on the counter then flew back up to land on my neck at the base of my skull. Just as I felt him land (I wasn't surprised) I said, very gravely but joking, I am the Chosen One. It flapped its wings in agreement. They felt much larger than they looked.